Snow, Snow and More Snow

Snow, Snow, and More Snow

Suzanne Marsh

“Ma, I can’t see the barn; the snow is coming down faster than usual.” Matt Strong was ten years old the year the great snow came to Dodge City, Kansas. Jake Strong stomped his feet as he entered the small cabin:

“Martha, the snow is getting deeper out there. Glad Matt and I split all that firewood this

past fall. We will be warm, now, Martha, what’s for dinner?”

Martha Strong was a small, dark-haired woman with blue eyes and thin shoulders. She hated Kansas; it was flat, cyclones were bad enough, but the snow was worse. She wished more than anything to return to her native Georgia, which was always warm there. This summer, they had fought off Indians and locusts, each was worse than the year before; now, the snow.

The cabin had two rooms, and the fireplace kept it warm; for that, Martha was very grateful. Jake watched her quietly as her eyes took on a faraway look, almost as if she were back in Valdosta, Georgia. Martha put up with a great deal, but her love for Jake and Matt usually prevailed. She missed the warmth of Georgia, especially now, with snow, snow, and more snow; soon they would not even be able to get out the door. The root cellar had vegetables and a small amount of meat; she worried that it would not be enough. She pulled her shawl closer around her small body.

Matt loved the snow, just as Jake did. Matt was already making plans to play outside. The north wind howled, snow blowing, and the outbuildings disappearing. Jake turned to Martha:

“Matt and I are going out to feed and milk the cows; you stay in here by the fire, Martha.”

Jake then turned to Matt:

“Matt, make sure you dress warm, it is the coldest I have ever seen here in Kansas.” Matt was tall, with his ma’s blue eyes; he was tall, just like his pa, Jake. “Ah, pa, it ain’t that cold.” Jake gave Matt a sidelong glance: “Do as I say, boy.” Jake struggled to get the wooden door open; snow drifts blocked the barn door. They went around the side of the big red barn, hoping the small door did not have a drift in front of it, also. The door creaked open. Jake made a quick mental note to oil the door. They went into the cold interior of the barn; the cows mooed as Jake grabbed the milking stool and sat down on it. Matt began to toss the hay down from the upper part of the barn. He could see his breath; it was so cold.

A cow began to moo loudly, and a calf began to enter the cold, cruel world. Matt and Jake waited to be sure the calf was healthy. Jake watched as the cow delivered the calf, which wobbled around for a few seconds. Jake knew if he left the female calf out in the barn, she would freeze to death:

“Matt, bundle her up in this old horse blanket. We are going to have to put her in the cabin.”

Matt gave his pa a puzzled look:

“Pa, ma ain’t gonna be pleased with a calf in the house.”

“Matt, we have no choice, we are building a herd, this little lady is going to help us.”

The wind howled like a banshee, and the snow was blowing in every direction as Matt and Jake fought their way back into the log cabin. The creek was frozen solid, so they would have to melt snow to water the animals. Matt carried the calf, huddled in the horse blanket, into the cabin. Martha heard the calf bellow before Matt and Jake could explain. Martha was not going to have a dirty, smelly calf in the cabin; it was just too much to ask of her:

“Jacob Strong, you remove that creature from this cabin now!”

Jake was usually obliging to Martha:

“Martha, we can’t risk the calf’s life; she is the start of the herd we are going to raise.”

Martha could feel as if Jake had hit her; tears welled in her blue azure eyes:

“Jake, I am not going to have a calf in our home such that it is. Now take it back to the barn.”

Jake’s voice grew louder as the wind howled:

“No, Martha, she has to be kept warm, it will only be for tonight, now be a good wife and

make supper.”

Martha felt the bile rising in her throat as she stormed over to the wooden cook stove. She threw logs into the oven, making as much noise as possible. She wanted to convey her anger to Jake, or was it more than anger, resentment? The word swirled around in her mind. Yes, she admitted to herself, she resented life here in Kansas; the calf was the last straw. She hated life in Kansas; Georgia was warm and pleasant, and her family lived in a stone home, one of the few that was not burned to the ground by General William T. Sherman during his Atlanta campaign. She loved Jake and Matt; leaving them was not an option; however, displeasure was. Jake waited while Martha continued with her temper tantrum. She would eventually calm down, and she would be contrite.

The calf attempted to stand on her own. She was small, and her legs were still wobbly. Martha smiled as she watched the small creature. Matt saw the smile on his ma’s face; he knew the worst was over.

The following morning, much to Jake’s chagrin, the snow had drifted up to the front door, and the only way out to the barn was through the small window in the front of the cabin. Jake pulled on his jacket, then climbed out the window. Matt followed his pa, bundled up, and went out the window. Martha was alone with the calf. She bellowed for the cow that had given birth to her. Martha went over to her, hoping that Jake and Matt would bring in a pail of milk for the calf. Martha felt better about things this morning. The calf made her smile when she wobbled over to Martha. She stroked the calf’s head and ears. Had she finally made a friend out here in Kansas, in this flat land?

The snow began to fall once again, just as Jake and Matt finished milking the two cows. They filled one pail of milk and began to return to the cabin. The wind began to pick up, snow began to swirl and blow, turning the front of the house into a winter wonderland.

Their noses red and eyes watering, Matt and Jake began their trek back to the cabin with the pail of milk. Martha already had coffee ready and eggs that had been gathered just before the snow made it impossible to hike to the chicken coop. They stomped the snow off their boots, and Martha handed them both a cup of coffee to warm them.

The blizzard abated on the third day, and for the first time in a week, the sun shone. The small family was safe, and the cabin was warm and welcoming.